It’s World Cup time again, and Americans from Bangor to Batavia don’t even bother to stifle their quadrennial yawns, while more fervent patriots are praying to the God who adjudicates sporting events that the US team flames out early, as usual.

​It’s been 32 years since the World Cup first tainted American soil. The 1994 invasion was a colossal flop, despite the corporate subsidies lavished by Coca-Cola, Mastercard and the usual suspects. The title game – oh, excuse me: match – a thrilling 0-0 tie in regulation between Brazil and Italy, did not win millions of new fans.

Our indifference to soccer owes much to good old-fashioned American stubbornness and the vestigial resistance to homogenisation

Our indifference to soccer owes much to good old-fashioned American stubbornness and the vestigial resistance to homogenisation

​The indifference of Americans to the World Cup will be ascribed to our provincialism and ignorance of the wider world, but in fact it owes more to good old-fashioned American stubbornness and the vestigial resistance to homogenisation that produced, for instance, the popular rejection of the metric system. No doubt there are pockets of enthusiasm for the tournament: dweebs in what my friend Jason Peters calls Silly Con Valley are likely to be extra amorous with their AI girlfriends should the USA defeat Paraguay in the home team’s opener.

​Also drinking deeply from the poisoned chalice of the World Cup is President Donald Trump, the Man Who Would be King of Greenland and Ruler of Cuba, who has weighed in on behalf of the favourite sport of the Placeless........

© The Spectator